


From the Time Before

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: Sherlock and Mycroft Stuff [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mentions of Murder Suicide, Mentions of past drug use, Worried John, Worried Mycroft, Worried greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-06-04 13:11:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6659413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So I want this fic where Greg walks in on Sherlock stood over a body that he just found there. He's with Donovan and Anderson and a load of armed police. Maybe they were looking for the body? Sherlock standing over it before they had called him in for help seems too bad to be anything good. Greg's forced to arrest him. Then I want Mycroft and John kicking arse trying to find the real culprit while trying to keep Greg out of it because if he gets involved he might lose his job. Donovan is told to interview Sherlock but their senior officer never said she had to do it alone so Greg goes with her. I want it all so it (from the police's and maybe John's/Mycroft's point of view) looks like Sherlock is the murder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crisis

**Author's Note:**

> And yes Molly is making up for her antics in 'mistress Molly' in this fic.

Greg charged into the public toilets in the park, half of New Scotland Yard behind him with a load of armed police officers. He knew they were close to finding the murderer that had been running amok for weeks.

He raised his gun at the occupant… that coat looked familiar.

“Sherlock?”

The detective jerked, spinning around, his eyes went wide.

The DI took one glance at the body an then looked to the younger man.

“Hands up, Sherlock.”

The detective just stared blankly.

“Now, Sherlock!”

Frowning down at the body and then the blood on his shirt he raised his hands. He'd only been trying to help.

This looked bad, Sherlock knew, but things were only going to get worse. The problem: he knew the man laying on the ground from the time before - before he had found a purpose for his life and turned things around.

Greg didn't like this at all, but he had to follow procedure. Doing so would hopefully prove his friend innocent. Not doing so would only make things even more complicated than they already promised to be. For both of them.

Another officer moved to step forward but Greg snapped at them to move back.

“I can manage.” He threw cuffs around one of Sherlock's wrists, pulling them both behind him. “Get CSE in here,” he ordered, dragging Sherlock roughly from the block.

“Lestrade-”

“Not now Sherlock. Where's John? I assume he's with you?”

“No. He's at work.” And well damn that made this look a whole lot worse.

The DI walked Sherlock to the car, reciting him his rights through gritted teeth. “And, for once, keep that mouth of yours shut. You know Donovan is going to be all over this.” The younger man started to say something, but Lestrade cut him off. “Not a bloody word! Not even to me.”

“Lestrade-”

“Sherlock this is as bad for me as it is for you. Now get in.” He pushed him into the back seat of his car. “And I'm phoning your brother. I highly recommend not getting abusive when he brings you a lawyer. You're going to need one.”

Sherlock let out a sigh of resignation as the door shut, locking him in. Of course, he could be out of the cuffs and the car in moments, but what would be the point? Without further access to the crime scene and the ability to move freely about London and investigate, his freedom would be pointless.

Greg climbed into the driver's seat and waited for another officer to join them in the back, beside Sherlock.

The detective let his head hit the window and sighed again. The worst part was he'd have to deal with his brother's annoying comments at the other end of the journey.

At least it wasn't Donovan who had joined them. Lestrade had probably had to be rather forceful to make her stay behind. She wouldn't have voluntarily missed this chance to gloat.

Sherlock's head jerked up at the sound of Greg's voice.

“Hey, John. Can't say much. I'm calling as a friend. You'll want to come to the Yard. I'm afraid it's rather serious.” Lestrade paused. “I can't say anything further.”

The man in cuffs closed his eyes. He leant forward for his head to hit the seat in front.

When they pulled up outside the yard, Greg reached into the back seat and pulled him bodily from the vehicle.

“Come on.”

Sherlock wasn't surprised to see Mycroft's car waiting, though he didn't remember Greg calling his brother. He had said he would, but the detective had retreated to his Mind palace and missed it. He would rather have proceeded to the desk without his brother's presence.

But it seemed the British Government didn't care what he wanted. When did he ever?

“Brother-mine, what have you done?”

Sherlock's gaze flickered to Mycroft before dropping his head again.

Greg dragged him over to the desk and stopped him in front of it. He gave his name to the desk sergeant and turned to talk to Mycroft. For a bit of privacy he pushed open the nearest office door and led inside.

The government official looked drawn and pale, already, his face showing a deep degree of concern.

“Mycroft, tell me your people were watching him,” Greg pleaded. “Tell me they can say Sherlock isn't our murderer.”

Mycroft glanced at anywhere but his boyfriend. “He gave them the slip. Just over an hour ago.”

Greg collapsed into a seat. “There's nothing I can do. I'd interview him but after last time the Superintendent won't let me.”

“Has the body been identified?” Mycroft asked, softly.

The DI shook his head. “I've no idea. I wanted to get him out of there before he had a chance to say anything he shouldn't.”

“Has he said anything he shouldn't?”

Greg pushed himself to his feet, groaning softly. “He hasn't said anything at all.”

“Not even to defend himself?”

The DI shook his head. “He's shut down, completely.”

When they went back out to the desk Sherlock was gone. Just a tilt of his head told the desk sergeant what he wanted to know.

“Cell 3.”

Greg thought he could safely stretch the rules enough to let Mycroft see his brother without going through the visitation process. It was about all he could do.

“This way, Myc.” It felt like the bad old days, no it felt even worse. Back then, getting Sherlock in a cell had meant the end of danger. This was just the beginning.

He pushed the door open. Sherlock wasn't pacing. He wasn't even on his feet. He'd sunk into the bench against the back wall staring at his feet.

Mycroft moved forward so he was between the DI and his brother.

Sherlock waited, resigned, for a barrage of superior, scathing remarks, but they didn't come. Instead, his brother just stood there for a moment before finally speaking with a shaky voice, “'Lock, I don't know what happened, but I know you didn't kill that man and I'll do whatever it takes to prove it, I promise you.”

“Yeah,” he whispered but he didn't sound sure.

“Has someone been in here, Sherlock?” The DI asked.

He swallowed but didn't speak.

Sighing himself, Greg turned and made his way from the cell to the desk. “Has Mr. Holmes had any contact other than you or me?”

“Just Sergeant Donovan, sir, when you first went into the office.”

Greg pressed his lips together into a thin line as he ran his hand through his grey hair. Of course Sally had had to gloat and the infuriating part was he wouldn't be able to say anything to her about it without causing problems. God, but this whole bloody situation was nothing short of a cluster fuck. He could only hope someone with less animosity towards Sherlock would be assigned to the case.

As Mycroft joined him from the closed cell, the Superintendent came down the stairs with Donovan just behind.

“Lestrade, Donovan will be conducting the interview with our murder suspect. We've had this problem before. There's not much of a step up from kidnap to murder and Mr. Holmes does appear to be have a few loose screws. He doesn't really have a leg to stand on anyway, does he?”

Mycroft ground his teeth, “you'll keep your opinions to yourself until you have evidence, Superintendent,” he spat out.

“He was found over the corpse covered in blood, that's evidence enough.”

“It's damning, yes,” Greg agreed, “but it's hardly proof! You can't build a court case around it.”

Donovan smiled. “How about the fact that the victim was a known dealer? That doesn't exactly help his case, does it?”

“My brother is clean, Sergeant Donovan, I assure you,” Mycroft said dangerously.

“Maybe so, but I doubt he planned to stay that way. We'll be conducting a urine test and we'll check his hair as well. You understand.”

He stepped forward. “My. Brother. Is. Clean,” Mycroft repeated.

“So why isn't he speaking? I just had a nice little chat with him. The only reason it was nice was because he didn't respond.”

“That is torment, Sally!” Greg growled.

The Superintendent cleared his throat. “This is the investigative process. I'll have to ask the both of you to leave so Sergeant Donovan can proceed with the interview.”

“Fine,” Mycroft agreed, “but there will be no interview until my brother's lawyer arrives.”

Greg took his boyfriend's arm and gently steered him towards the door.

As they reached it, however, the door opened. Revealing not only John but the lawyer as well.

“Mycroft what the hell is going on?” John asked.

The government official shook his head. “For once I have no idea.”

***

A while later after the lawyer had been in the cell with Sherlock for a long time with the detective just nodding or shrugging, Donovan was dragging Sherlock through the corridors to the interview room.

When he knew no one was watching the DI grabbed Mycroft by the hand and nodded to John as they walked through to the observation room.

Sherlock was dumped in his seat with a sneer from the woman.

The doctor was stood as close to the glass as he could get, his arms crossed and a deep frown on his face.

“Alright, Freak,” Sally said, “why did you kill that man? Did he refuse to sell to you? Ask for a price you weren't willing to pay?”

The lawyer frowned. “Sergeant, I object to the manner in which you addressed my client. It indicates a level of hostility.”

“Oh, my apologies.” Sally reached over and turned on the recorder. “Now we can really get started.”

“So, Sherlock,” she spun the word around her tongue. “What were you doing at the park?”

He didn't answer.

“Sherlock?”

There was still no response.

She sighed before trying another question. “Where had you been before we picked you up?”

The detective closed his eyes, then reopened them. Sherlock stared at his hands, at the table, at the wall, at the mirrored surface of the one way glass that stood between him and whoever was watching. He wondered if half of New Scotland Yard was on the other side, gloating. He decided he didn't care.

“Could I have a moment with my client?”

“No.”

“If you want any answers from him I suggest you reconsider.”

She sighed but stepped from the room, giving him the asked for time alone.

When she reentered and repeated her questions she got the same response as before.

“I thought you said he would talk if I left you alone with him,” Donovan complained.

The lawyer shook his head. “I couldn't get him to talk to me.”

Sally stood up, leaning heavily on the table. “This is pointless. We'll get what we need another way.”

She moved around the desk and hauled Sherlock to his feet.

Just as she dragged him unprotesting from the room John bundled out of the observation room, the DI trying to hold him back.

“Get off him,” he hissed.

Sally gave him a condescending look. “Out of the way, Watson.” She had dropped all pretence at civility. “I told you we'd find him standing over a body one day.”

Greg stepped forward. “Give the two of them a moment. Please.”

She looked between them and rolled her eyes. “2 minutes.” She pointed back at the interview room. “I'll be watching.” She made sure the pair were inside and the door was locked before pushing between the two older men so she could watch.

“Sherlock, talk to me.” Pause. “Please, 'Lock.”

The detective scuffed his shoe slightly, staring at his toes.

John took his hand and squeezed it tightly. “Come on, look at me.” He used his other hand to turn Sherlock's face to his. “I believe in you, Sherlock Holmes.”

The detective's voice was soft and rough from disuse as he asked, “Why?”

“Because I know you! You didn't do this!”

He looked away. “What does it matter? With Donovan on it you might as well say your goodbyes.”

John stared at him. “Are you trying to tell me you did?”

The detective huffed.

“Out, Watson, now!” Came the yell as the door opened. “He's going back to his cell.”

Sherlock was hauled from the room before John had a chance to kiss him bye.

“This will be a fair and just case, Miss Donovan,” Mycroft called after her. “I will ensure your job is on the line if it isn't.”

The sergeant had the audacity to shrug.

Greg couldn't believe her, had she not been paying attention to anything all these years? When this ordeal was over, he'd have to find someone to replace her on his team. God, he wanted it over right now. The DI turned to look at his boyfriend, but addressed John, “You two, go do whatever it is you have to. Just don't tell me, yeah? And I'll be staying at mine for the duration... Fuck! I don't like this.” He carded his hand through grey hair, resisting the urge to pull it out.

Mycroft pulled him into a hug. “I'm sorry this is difficult for you.”

“It's difficult for you too. Both of you.” He let out a deep breath. “I'll make sure he isn't treated unfairly. Just hurry.”

As Mycroft stepped back, Greg met John's eyes. They exchanged nods.

“I'll check with Molly about the victim,” the doctor offered. “I know she'll want to help.”

The DI held up his hands. “I didn't hear that.”

“Sure.” John nodded once again. “Well… look after him, Greg.”

“Mate, I know if I don't you'll be the least of my worries.” He was looking at Mycroft as he said it.

“'S'pose the British Government is a little more powerful than me,” he chuckled nervously. “Come on, Mycroft.”

The two men left, Mycroft trailing along in John's wake. That was a testament to Mycroft's level of concern - he felt like he couldn't think properly. That had to change if he was to be of any use to his brother.

Mycroft pulled out his phone and typed out a quick message to Anthea asking that any information pertaining to the murder be directed to both his and John's phones.

He also made sure to make her keep Greg out of it, he didn't want this to be any more difficult for his boyfriend, despite his concern for his brother.

John made a line for Mycroft's car which was waiting by the kerb. They both climbed in, their phones pinging almost simultaneously. They read Anthea's message at the same time.

The victim was William Long, the drug dealer known as Sparks.

Mycroft swore and slammed his fist against the car door.

“Mycroft?”

Mycroft's expression had gone from a strained neutral to extreme worry.

“What is it?” John was looking at the name on his own phone, not recognising it.

The older man threw the car into gear and pulled out into the road.

“He was my brother's dealer.”

“He didn't kill him,” John reassured Mycroft. “And he's clean.”

“I know that!” The government official calmed himself. “I know that, but it looks even worse. What kind of case were you two working that he had to talk to Long?”

“It was a run of the mill murder suicide. I was surprised he got involved. I would have thought it was too boring.”

“He must have seen something that the Yard missed, but what?” Mycroft wished he'd had longer to talk to his brother.

The rest of the journey was quiet and John couldn't help but think Mycroft was trying to fill it. When they were about to climb from the car he stopped the older man with a hand on his arm.

The government official looked at it, then John's face.

“What is it?” The doctor asked.

“What if he did do it?”

“Don't. Just don't. If we don't believe in him, who will?”

Mycroft took a deep breath and nodded. “Of course, John. You are correct. He's passed every drug screening I've given him and, since he's met you... Well, he wouldn't go back to that.”

“You need to really mean that, Mycroft. Just saying it won't help.”

He nodded. “Right. I know.” He indicated the door. “Shall we?”

John climbed out of the car with the elder Holmes close on his heels. He led the way to the morgue, hoping to find Molly there.

She was alone inside except for the company of a corpse, Long's corpse. Molly looked up, her eyes going wide at the sight of John. “You're not supposed to be here.”

“And you won't tell anyone, will you?” the doctor asked.

“Of course not, but the cameras...”

“Will malfunction, Miss Hooper,” Mycroft informed her.

“Mr. Holmes. What they are saying is true then… Sherlock did this.”

“No!” John countered immediately. “The circumstances were…”

“Unfortunate,” Mycroft supplied.

Molly nodded and looked down at the corpse. “I can't let you examine the body or even stay here while I do it. It's too risky, someone could come in, but,” she looked up at them, determination settling on her face, “I'll get you a copy of everything, all my findings.”

“No one can kick him out,” John responded pointing at Mycroft.

“She's right, John, our being here could effect the trial should we get that far.”

“You're the British Government there has to be something you can do!”

“There is,” Mycroft said calmly. “I can interfere with the cameras and I can see to it that Miss Hooper is assigned a new trainee as assistant.”

“Then do it.”

“If you're amenable, Miss Hopper?”

She nodded. “If it helps clear Sherlock, of course.”

The doctor smiled. “Thank you, Molly.” He gave a start and turned to follow Mycroft who was already halfway through the door. “Mycroft, wait!”

“Hurry, Doctor. Anthea has just sent more information about Long.”

John looked at his phone, the other man was right. How had he missed the ping?

“4 hours. He must have been dealing.”

“It's the only reason any sane person would stand in public toilets that long. Even a new block.”

“What if a user killed him? The questions Donovan was asking Sherlock? They could be right. She's just asking the wrong person.”

Mycroft pictured the area where the murder occurred in his mind. There were no cameras in the toilet and none outside it, either. If there had been, he would have already received the footage. Odds were it was one of Long's customers who had killed him, someone involved in the case Sherlock had been working. Mycroft would have to find the people who made up the man's customer base and work from there.

“The easiest way of finding what we need to know is to talk to Sherlock.”

“He's given up, Mycroft. I don't know what Donovan said to him but it's like he doesn't care.”

“Then we need to make him.”

“What if we were to go to the scene? Surely the coppers are done there now.”

“And if the murderer is there? Watching. If it's an addict it's the sort of thing they would do.”

The doctor pulled his SIG from the back of his waistband, glad they were still in the hospital. “Then we do what we have to.”

Mycroft nodded. “Fine.” He led them back to his car and drove them to the crime scene. He'd memorised the address the moment he'd first read it in one of Anthea's texts. As he parked nearby, he noted that the area was clear of police and there were the usual passers-by.

As they scouted around it was clear that the police hadn't missed anything and if the real murderer has been there, they weren't now.

Mycroft stamped his foot. “This is ridiculous. My brother needs to buck his ideas up.”

The doctor sighed. “He won't,” as he spoke his and Mycroft's phones buzzed.

“Is this his address?” John asked.

The government official shook his head. “Coordinates. She would have sent an actual address. And anyway the police would be there by now. This is a place I recognise, back when Sherlock first started using. Come on.”

This drive was short and ended with a walk on foot. The area they were in was less than savoury and John's nerves were on edge. It was bad enough skulking around these places with Sherlock, but Mycroft was in a three piece suit! It was to make them look like targets. His fingers itched to pull out his SIG.

They cut through a rundown building full of low cost housing and emerged at a very small, well, courtyard was too fancy a word, a very small gravelled area.

“I found him here once. On the floor and completely out of it.”

John glanced over at the older man. Mycroft was acting in a way John had never seen. That blocked off facial expression he used so easily had long since vanished. On any other day, John would have been glad to see that Mycroft really was human but right now it made them vulnerable.

“Mycroft, snap out of it! We need to focus.”

The suited man looked the blond up and down. “I can see why Sherlock loves you.”

John had a feeling as if something wasn't quite right. He pulled out his SIG as he looked around. “Myc... umph!” A body slammed into him from behind, tackling him to the ground. He and his assailant rolled about on the ground. John fought as best he could, but the other man had the unnatural strength of a person on a high. The gun was wrenched from the doctor's hands and turned on him.

“On your feet.”

The doctor glanced at Mycroft who was looking about as surprised as he was.

“Come on! Up. Hurry.”

“Why? Somewhere to be?”

Mycroft eyed the man with John's gun. “I know you.”

John stood up, warily. “Mycroft, who is he?”

“He's no one,” the government official sneered. “He's a petty criminal and junkie.”

“Just like your brother,” the stranger said. “Oh, wait. He's not a petty thief anymore. He's a murderer.”

“You were watching…”

“It was an accident. Long wouldn't give me my stuff. Wanted more cash. Went back on our deal. It couldn't have worked out better… your brother walking in.”

“And the murder suicide?” John questioned.

“I did good, yeah? Made it look like Joey killed her and himself, but I did it. Me. He wanted Sandra to quit seeing me, quit sharing her stuff with me, and the stupid cunt agreed! She cut me off!” The man's hand was shaking, causing the barrel of the gun to waver.

It was then that neither John nor Mycroft could prevent what happened. The gun went off.


	2. Resolution

Both John and Mycroft ducked instinctively at the sound of the gunshot. The bullet hit the wall behind them, sending sprays of brick every which way. The junkie dropped the gun in surprise and a split second later, he took off running. John took off after him immediately, grabbing his gun up off the floor.

“I'll go for the car,” Mycroft yelled after him. “Double back around.”

“Right,” the doctor acknowledged, already giving chase. He leapt over a pile of debris and kept going. Thankfully, the other man was on the wrong side of a high and John closed the distance between them fast.

Just as the junkie rounded a corner, Mycroft appeared with the car, almost careening down the alley. The man hesitated and John tackled him, driving him to the ground. Mycroft sprang from the driver's side and joined them. “John, are you alright?”

“Yep,” he had his gun wedged in the back of yew criminal's neck, “get up,” he hissed.

The junkie started sobbing, all of his bravado fading away with the press of the gun to his neck. He slowly climbed to his feet and let himself be led to the car.

“Handcuffs,” John requested. “Right coat pocket.”

Mycroft took out the handcuffs and put them on the junkie, then he opened the back door and John shoved him into the car. He climbed in beside him, leaving no chances of escape for the annoying sod.

“We should have thrown him into the boot,” John grumbled.

“I think they'd call that intimidation or something,” Mycroft complained.

“You're right,” but even as he spoke the junkie laughed, they had nothing… until John's gun made it to the man's cock, pressing against it through his battered jeans. “That'll be the first bit of you to go.”

That sobered the man up quickly. Mycroft glared at him in the mirror. “You're thinking we can't prove anything.” The government official smiled coldly. “You're wrong.” Mycroft turned around to look at John. “I caught the whole confession on my phone. Anything on there is automatically backed up to the home office, so there's no danger of it getting 'lost'.”

John smirked, he hadn't been aware of that little detail. “So my boyfriend didn't do it, I told you!” John called through to the front. “Your baby brother isn't a murderer.”

“Then why didn't he defend himself, John?!” Mycroft spat back. “He led us to believe… he didn't even have a go at me or swear at my lawyer.”

“I don't know.” The doctor frowned, his eyebrows drawing down in consternation. “I bloody well intend to find out.”

“As do I.”

Lestrade, clearly relieved at the capture of the true murderer sank into a nearby chair. “Thank God. It looked so bad…”

“I know,” Mycroft agreed. “Perhaps we should go get my brother?”

“He's in yet another interview room, Donovan is literally only giving him the half an hour rest every three hours. And no, he still hasn't said anything. I've been watching it all from up here,” he nodded at the laptop screen.

“Kick her out and leave him there,” Mycroft requested. “John and I want to talk to him and I rather he didn't have the chance to run off.”

Greg nodded and stood. “I'll be joining you. I want to know why he didn't defend himself.”

Mycroft smirked. “We are in much the same boat. In fact, let me kick her out, it would be my pleasure.”

Greg nodded, not seeing a downside. John followed, but at a distance, Mycroft wasn't in a mood to be crossed with.

At the interview room, Mycroft threw the door open. “Sergeant Donovan, out. Now.”

Sally leapt to her feet. “You can't just-”

“Don't,” Greg warned her. “The real murderer has been caught. Just walk out.”

She actually burst out laughing. “You can't be serious… you can't threaten someone to take your brother's place,” she growled.

Mycroft stepped closer to her and then caught sight of his brother. He was in the corner seat just staring at the table, he didn't even look up when John came in.

Seeing his boyfriend stop mid stride and stare at Sherlock, Greg stepped around him and took Sally by the arm. “I thought you were smarter than this.” He walked her to the door and pushed her through it. “I thought you knew me better than that. Go talk to Dimmock if you doubt me, then pack up your desk. I'm having you transferred.” The DI slammed the door behind her, then he returned to join the other two.

John had moved to sit beside his boyfriend behind the table. Sherlock brought his cuffed wrists out from beneath the table and rested them on it.

“Sherlock?” Greg started. “How long have you been cuffed for?”

Shrugging, the detective declined to answer.

The DI pulled out his keys and released Sherlock from the cuffs. “Don't tell me it's been since you were brought in here.”

“Fine. I won't.” Sherlock rubbed at his wrists briefly before placing his hands back on the table.

Not getting any sense out of him from sitting beside him, John moved around to the other side of the bench. “Um… Sherlock,” Greg looked around the room as if checking for something. “Where's your lawyer?”

He didn't offer a response again, just shrugged.

It was impossible to see what was going through Sherlock's head. John reached out and clasped his hands in his own. “Sherlock, babe, we just need to understand why you didn't defend yourself.”

Mycroft was incredibly quiet. More so than Sherlock and he had barely said 3 words. It was also weird seeing how he had practically chased Donovan out of the room. He was staring at his brother like he was surprised he existed. “'Lock-” Mycroft took a step towards his brother. “You couldn't possibly think we wouldn't have believed you.”

“Why would you believe me?” Sherlock lifted his head and met his brother's gaze. “When have you ever?”

“We never believed you killed that man,” John told Sherlock. “In fact, we set out to learn the truth and we did it. As soon as we talk this out, you can go.”

“Wrong.”

“No, babe,” John corrected him. “The real murderer has been arrested.”

“Not that. Wrong that you all never doubted me.”

Mycroft's gaze met John's. “We never doubted you, Sherlock, that's why we went for the truth.” It was a lie, but John knew the truth would not help matters.

“Just go,” Sherlock said. “Leave me here.”

“Don't act the child, brother-mine.” The government official leaned back on the bench. “It's not becoming.”

“Don't lie to me,” Sherlock spat, “it's not becoming. The moment you realised the victim was Sparks, you started doubting.” He looked at Lestrade. “And you. You set Donovan on me.”

The DI shook his head. “I didn't. The Superintendent did.” He sighed. “Look, my boss is a jerk, you know that, after that thing with those kids…”

“Yeah, you all doubted me back then too!”

“All the more reason for me not to doubt you now!” Greg took a deep breath to calm himself. “Look, I can't take my mistakes back any more than you can, but I can bloody well learn from them.”

“Yeah, well, so can I.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” John growled.

“Why do I bother? I run stupid cases to help people out and what do I get? Thrown in some police car and left to be dealt with by Donovan. Don't pretend like you three don't see where I'm going to end up.”

“I'm an idiot,” the doctor said bitterly, “remember? Just where are you going to end up? Because wherever that is, I intend on being right there with you.”

Sherlock just huffed. He didn't care. He stopped caring the second Lestrade had locked him in the back seat. If they couldn't trust him… what was the point of talking to them?

“If you want to believe that of us, I can't stop you, but what about John?” Mycroft glanced at the doctor. “He never quit believing in you, even when the rest of the world thought you were a fraud.”

Swallowing hard, the detective darted a glance at John. What his brother had said was true. “And what does that say about you?” Sherlock growled. “My brother. My big brother. The one who had always been so protective. What the hell does that say about you?” Before they could stop him, Sherlock had got to his feet and stormed from the room. He grabbed a passing officer by the shirt and punched him square in the face.

“What the fuck?!” the officer cried out, grasping at his bleeding nose. Another officer lunged for the detective and tackled him to the floor.

John was right there, standing over the pair, in a heartbeat. “You idiot!”

Sherlock had been wrestled face down into the carpet, not arguing at all. The DI and Mycroft appeared at the door.

“What the-” Greg cut off in favour of watching Mycroft step forward.

The British Government looked down at his brother, torn. On the one hand, Sherlock was being a complete arse and deserved whatever he had coming. On the other, leaving him to his fate would only reinforce whatever misperceptions Sherlock had. He glanced at Greg and then nodded once.

“Let him up,” Greg sighed.

The officers obeyed immediately, even the one with a bloody nose stepped back.

Greg pointed down the hall, “Go and clean yourself up. I'll sort this.”

John grabbed Sherlock's shirt and started dragging him towards the nearest door.

“John, let go!”

The detective tried to pull away from him, but the doctor wasn't having it. He pushed Sherlock against the wall. “Greg, hand me those cuffs, they're going back on.”

“What the-” the DI was more than happy to play along with whatever game John was playing.

When Sherlock's wrists were cuffed behind him again, he dragged him out the door. He pushed him into the back of Greg's car and locked the door, turning to speak to the older men.

“Whatever he's got in his head, I'm not risking him doing a runner. I want him back at Baker Street. If we can't talk some sense into him there, I'll sit on him until he comes around.”

“Seriously, John? We still haven't really gotten to the bottom of this.”

“Then we'll do it at Baker Street, where he knows no one else is about.” The doctor frowned at the car. “It probably wouldn't be the smartest thing for one of us to ride in the back with him right now.”

“You can ride with Gregory and take him home. My car is still here. I'll meet you at Baker Street.”

They nodded, Greg went as far as to kiss him. “Do not get side tracked, Holmes!”

Mycroft mock saluted. “No, sir!”

John rolled his eyes. “You two, this might as well be the fucking end of the world. Can we get back to some normality? Please?”

The DI shrugged and gave a laugh, “Alright, mate.” He got in the car and started it, glancing in the back. Sherlock had curled up against the door in a ball of sulking consulting detective. It was going to be a long drive.

John got out of the car at Baker Street and opened the back door. “Time to get out.”

Sherlock just glared up at him. Growling his annoyance, John reached in and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. He threw the DI the keys to the flat.

Despite being dragged, Sherlock didn't protest, not verbally nor physically, weird, a kind of 'sod it all' Sherlock - even more so than the last 12 hours.

Mycroft was waiting in the flat for the other three men. “I see my dearest brother's attitude hasn't improved.”

“Not one bit,” John agreed.

Sherlock pulled away and went to stand by the window, looking out. It was as if he were trying to ignore them.

Mycroft sighed. “Alright. Perhaps I was mistaken in trying to spare your feelings. Sherlock, I did have my doubts, but even then, I knew that if you had done it, there would have been a reason. I was terrified for you. If you just talk to me - us…”

“You'll what?” He responded quietly. “Uncuff me? Leave me alone? Like you always do.”

Mycroft swallowed awkwardly. “That's what this is about… you think I what? Abandoned you?”

The detective didn't answer, just kept looking out the window.

“So, this is what? About us leaving you to find the real killer and clear your sorry arse?” John couldn't believe what he had heard.

“No, John.” Mycroft sank down into a chair. “It goes much deeper than that. Back to when I left for Cambridge.”

“No way did he… not at that age…”

“No. He was 17 when the drugs started… the cause of them started when he was 11. Didn't it, Sherlock?”

He didn't answer, he didn't move.

“Whenever I've tried to talk to you about this, you've screamed and shouted at me… I've never had the chance to…”

“Pretend you care?” Sherlock scoffed. “Don't you think it's a bit late for that?”

John shook his head. “'Lock, babe, you are being a complete arse. Your brother was getting shot at just a few hours ago and all for you.”

Sherlock's eyes flickered up and down the doctor precisely once. “You were getting shot out a few hours ago,” he countered. Then he turned back to staring out of the window.

John stood and began to drag the detective over, he pushed him into the seat next to his brother. “If I have to, I'll call your mother. If you don't want me to, you'll listen to what I have to say.” John pointed from Sherlock to Mycroft. “Your big brother may be an annoying git, sorry Mycroft, but he bloody well cares about you. Maybe he cares too damned much. Tell me, how many times has Mycroft neglected his relationship with Greg to deal with you and all your drama?”

Sherlock was refusing to do anything in which would be beneficial to his situation.

John grabbed his chin. “Mycroft is going to speak now and you are going to listen, Sherlock, do you hear me? When he's done, Greg will uncuff you and then you can do anything or go anywhere you please.”

The government official took a deep breath. This was his chance to say all the things he had wanted to say for so long. “I'm sorry that I had to leave you, Sherlock. I'm sorry that I wasn't there when things got so hard for you. If I had known, I would have done things differently. When I came home and found out about... everything, I handled it badly. I can't say I wish I hadn't forced you into rehab, because I believe it's the only reason you're alive, but I shouldn't have let you push me away. For that, I am truly sorry.” Mycroft stopped, taking a moment to catch his breath.

Greg was pacing behind the sofa, struggling to get his head around everything. “Hold on,” he interrupted. “Hold on a second, what the fuck has this got to do with the last day from hell?”

“It's what my brother does, Gregory, when trouble strikes, he pushes those he cares about away. It's a familiar pattern.” Mycroft sighed. “It's a pattern I should have broken long ago.”

“Well, screw that.” The DI turned to Sherlock. “We care about and love you, you idiot. Get that through your head.”

Despite himself, Sherlock's lips quirked. “Really? You love me, Greg?”

“You bloody well know what I mean.”

Sherlock let out a nervous laugh, but then his attention was caught by his brother again. “Mycroft… it's not your job to babysit me.”

“Then whose is it, little brother? You were always left with the nanny as a baby. That never changed when I left for university. I wish I had never gone.”

All at once, Sherlock seemed to relax, his muscles unclenching. “No, Mycroft. You did what you had to. Can you imagine the state of the nation if you hadn't?” he tried teasing, but it fell short. “I don't regret you going, not really.” His cuffed wrists rattled as he shifted. “I wish...”

“What, little brother?”

“That you'd taken me with you. I saw you once a year. Maybe twice if you deigned to come home for Christmas.”

“Good.” Greg crossed his arms. “Would you two just hug and get it over with?” Sherlock rattled his cuffed wrists. “Right.” The DI unlocked them.

The brothers hugged, awkwardly at first, then fiercely. Mycroft almost got a tear in his eye.

John nodded in satisfaction. “And next time you get framed for murder, can we skip the dramatics?”


End file.
